To say the library's exterior lacked charm was an understatement.
With peeling paint, poorly concealed graffiti decorating the plain walls and only a rickety old sign advertising its name (From Cover to Cover, officially, but time had stolen the m and r), the place could hardly be considered appealing. The deserted parking lot to the left and overgrown field to the right, both littered with cigarette butts, did not contribute anything positive to the scene.
But, as they say, desperate times call for desperate measures, and "desperate" was certainly a term befitting Gilbert at the moment (not that he'd ever admit it). His brother was obviously too lazy to go out and get his stupid book himself, and Gilbert's serious lack of a To Do list meant that he was sent on the errand. Upon stumbling across the decrepit old bookstore, Gilbert had sincere hope that it would have the book he needed and no further trips to larger, busier libraries would be necessary (Damn Ludwig for not letting him order online!).
So, shoving the smudged door open, he stepped in with a grin and eyed the place.
The building was small, but in a cozy rather than suffocating way. Tall bookshelves that nearly grazed the ceiling lined the walls, while two shorter ones stood in the middle, creating three rows altogether. All were filled to bursting with books upon books upon books, most in need of rebinding or perhaps full reprint. A tiny counter squatted directed to the left, housing a dusty pile of old newspapers, magazines, and a few paperbacks missing their covers.
Altogether, the place looked like it hadn't been touched since the Teutonic Knights were formed.
Gilbert was fine with that.
As long as the fucking book was here.
Hoping he wouldn't have to do too much digging, Gilbert glanced toward the counter. There was no one behind it, but the soft rustling of paper could be heard from the vicinity of the floor, so he leaned over the edge to peer at whoever the store manager must be.
The thin, short young man didn't notice him in the slightest, too absorbed in a heavily-dogeared edition of...some Russian book. Spying an excellent opportunity, Gilbert smirked and took a deep breath.
"ANYONE HOOOOMME?!"
The man let out a shriek, shooting up from the floor and nearly tripping over a pair of too-long legs in the process. One hand slammed the poor book on the counter for safekeeping while the other remained pressed against his chest, trying to calm his erratic breathing.
"Oh, I am so sorry! I didn't notice you come in, and...You, ah, you startled me," he panted, nervously wringing his hands.
Gilbert grinned.
"Good, so a guy can get some help around here."
"Right, uh..." The clerk smiled nervously and set his book somewhere behind the counter more gently. "Can I help you with anything, sir?"
To business.
"Yeah, I need a book on Italian cooking. Anything pasta related, actually. Got anything like that?"
"Oh, well, yes, we do. Here, let me just show you..." The young man (his name tag read Toris but it was dangling from his shirtfront after the incident and therefore too much bother to read) wiggled his way out from behind the counter and walked quickly to one of the wall shelves in the corner. "Here is the nonfiction area - you'll find self help books on the left and cookbooks on the bottom shelf. Just let me know if you have any questions, okay?"
Already wincing at the painfully large collection of cookbooks, Gilbert merely grunted in response and reluctantly pulled out the first book in sight, creatively titled Little Italy.
It was dark outside when he looked up again.
This was clearly not Gilbert's fault. He didn't even like reading all that much, aside from Prussian history and the occasional magazine. But after looking through the first few cookbooks, it became obvious that they weren't in alphabetical order, as any shitty excuse for a library should be, and he just couldn't leave it like that. It wasn't as if that nervous clerk cared anyway - he would be thankful of Gilbert's awesome decision to reorganize the books.
...Where was said nervous clerk?
Shoving the final book into place, Gilbert jumped to his feet, stretching to get the kinks out, and stalked back to the counter to find the elusive man. No such luck. Thinking back, he vaguely remembered hearing the door to the shop opening and shutting, with the keys rattling and someone muttering about easily irritated girlfriends and intimidating landlords, but he obviously hadn't been paying attention at the time.
Neither, apparently, had the clerk.
"Fucking hell!" Gilbert swore, shaking the (locked from the outside, naturally) door in frustration and eventually resorting to kicking it.
Damn being related to Ludwig!
The situation wasn't that bad, really. He'd been in worse. There was that time in high school when he spent the night in a science classroom on a dare - luckily, there had been Bunsen burners and third period's quizzes to entertain him for a long while. Then there was that time where he, Francis, and Toni had been locked in a closet together by a seething Arthur swearing revenge on the Frenchman. Again, nearly endless entertainment - even after Toni fell asleep and Francis tried to coerce him into planning seductive retaliation against Arthur.
And that time he locked himself in the garage with the outdoor freezer dedicated to their entire beer supply? He didn't exactly remember what he had done then, but he was sure it was entertaining.
But this? A library? He was not going to read for the next twelve hours! He didn't even have his phone with him ("You'll get distracted," his brother growled, pushing him out the door.)
Okay. Fine. He would just break out. Luddy got him in here, Luddy's credit card could get him out.
Immediately putting his foolproof plan into action, he searched for the heaviest, most morbidly obese book he could find. He didn't have to look much farther than a large print, fully illustrated version of Les Miserables (Oh, Francis would strangle him if he knew).
Raising the book over his head with more difficulty than he was willing to admit, he braced himself with one foot, leaning back just enough for some extra momentum, and-
"Please don't do that."
With an unmanly shriek of surprise, Gilbert did as he was told and dropped the book.
Right on his big toe.
"Ficken, was zur Hölle war das? Und warum hast du mich einsperren in, du schwein? Scheiße, das tut weh this!" *
Clutching his injured toe, Gilbert hopped on one foot and turned to glare (and possibly smack) the offending clerk. Unfortunately, it was not the clerk behind him, and he was robbed of his justified beating. Instead, the young man standing calmly behind him had wavy blonde hair that just brushed his chin, and small, round glasses. His clothes were baggy and worn, hanging loosely on a thin frame. Gilbert thought he looked altogether too pleased with himself for startling him.
"Who the fuck are you?" he spat, standing up straight on both feet, even though it sent another jolt of pain through his foot. "I thought I was the only one locked in here."
The stranger shifted his weight, eyes scanning Gilbert up and down warily.
"I'm not exactly 'locked in' the way you are."
Gilbert groaned. Vague answers were going to get him nowhere.
"But you don't know how to get us out, do you?"
Shoulders slumping even more, the young man averted his eyes.
"Yeah, that's what I thought. How did you even get in here, anyway? I thought I was by myself."
"You also thought you wouldn't get yourself locked in."
Gilbert narrowed his eyes and stomped right up to the man, the thudding of his combat boots muffled by the dusty books around them.
"Listen to me, kid. We're stuck in here together, and I'm gonna break out if I want to break out, so don't. Fuck. With me. Got it?"
The man didn't even flinch, straightening his posture (he was actually a bit taller) and staring levelly back at Gilbert.
"Got it."
Still glaring at the man, whose eyes were a very strange (not that he had any room to talk) blue-purple color, Gilbert slowly leaned back, evaluating his new companion with some interest. Maybe the guy wasn't so bad. Cute, even. He walked back to the door and tried jiggling the handle again before looking around for something to pick the lock.
"So why're you in here?"
The question was just an awesome (read: awkward) attempt at conversation to fill the silence; Gilbert could stand silence about as well as he stood boredom, and both were far too close for comfort.
There was a thump behind him, and Gilbert turned to see the man hurriedly restacking a pile of books, a surprised look on his face. He looked strange, fuzzy around the edges, almost as if-
"Excuse me?
"It's a simple question, kid. Want an easier one? What's your name?"
"...Matthew Williams."
Matthew left the bookshelves and moved to perch on the counter next to him, and Gilbert grinned.
"Gilbert Beilschmidt. Nice to meet me."
The blond rolled his eyes, but a ghost of a smile flitted across his face and Gilbert's grin grew.
"Well, Gilbert, I can assure you that that door isn't going to open to you or any hair clip you find."
Looking up from his position on the floor with one hand scrabbling under the desk, Gilbert frowned.
"Why shouldn't it?"
Matthew shrugged and twirled a pen between his fingers idly.
"The owner of the bookstore changed the locks just last month. The door won't open without both a key and a employee's card."
"High tech for a dump."
The pen twirling stopped, and Matthew looked uncomfortable.
"Yeah, I guess...It's just because the owner's, ah, boyfriend sometimes comes over while he's working and likes privacy for when they..."
Gilbert stared at him.
"You mean..."
He flushed slightly in embarrassment.
"Yeah..."
There was a short pause, then Gilbert burst out laughing, drumming his heels on the floor.
"Oh mein Gott, they do that here? I didn't know Arthur fucking worked here! And Franny...oh, fuck, that's hilarious..."
Matthew pouted - yes, pouted, and that only made Gilbert laugh harder - and looked away, turning an even brighter red.
"It's not that funny! It's annoying! How do you even know Arthur and Francis, eh?" His eyes widened. "Oh, maple, have you walked in on them, too?"
Spluttering with laughter, Gilbert shook his head and leaped up to sit on the counter with him.
"Nah, I already knew Arthur worked at a bookstore, being the stick in the mud he is. Just didn't know which one. And Francis is one of my best friends, as well as the only person I know that would go molest his boyfriend at his workplace. It's not surprising at all." He smirked and turned to Matthew. "So you've- wait, so did you walk on in them and that's why they changed the locks?"
Matthew averted his eyes, shoulders slumping again.
"No."
Gilbert frowned.
"Don't talk so much, jeez. Okay, so how do you know those two?"
"I've just been in here a lot. You might call it my home away from home."
"Well, damn. That's kinda lonely, isn't it?" Gilbert leaned forward in an effort to glimpse the other man's face, but got distracted by a single wayward curl that stuck out in front of his face. It was just begging to be tugged...
"It is."
"Hey, wouldn't kill you to lighten up." The albino leaned over to give the man a friendly nudge, but he quickly found that it was impossible. His shoulder didn't make contact with anything, causing him to lose his balance. Matthew quickly caught him with one hand, shoving him upright.
"Sorry."
"Whoa, whoa, what was that?!" Gilbert hopped off the counter and stared at Matthew, suddenly not sure if he had just imagined that lack of warmth or...anything. "Did you...did you move, or am I just crazy?"
Matthew grinned lopsidedly.
"You didn't imagine anything, though I can't tell yet if you're crazy or not."
Gilbert raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.
"Excuse you, I'm awesome. Now tell me what the fuck just happened. You were right there, and then you weren't, and now you are again."
Biting his lip, Matthew looked down at his lap, looked up, and dropped his gaze again. When he spoke, his voice was unwavering, but there was a definite nervous undertone.
"What would you say if I told you I was a ghost, eh?"
Silence.
For ten seconds.
"Well, Gott, Mattie, at least look someone in the eye when you tell them you're a ghost. Make a good impression!"
Matthew looked up quickly, his expression a cross between elated and confused.
"Wha-"
"So what happened? Did you get murdered here or something? Oh shit, are you going to keep me here against my will and make me clean bookshelves? No, you don't seem like that kind of ghost. Three wishes? Do I at least get three wishes?"
"You...You're not freaking out that I'm a ghost?"
Gilbert hesitantly reached out to pat his back, making sure it was solid again, and then promptly thwacked it amiably, knocking the younger (how did ghost age work?) man forward.
"Why should I be? I'm not scared of ghosts, and you're a decent guy, dead or alive. Wonder why I haven't seen ghosts before, though."
Matthew recovered from the assault on his back and smiled.
"I'm not sure why you can see me at all. Most people couldn't."
" 'Couldn't?' "
"People, er, people didn't pay me much attention when I was alive, either."
The albino gave him a critical once over, making him flush, before pacing up and down in front of the counter determinedly.
"You've gotta make them notice you!"
Matthew chuckled.
"You don't have much trouble with that, do you?"
Smirking proudly, Gilbert ran a hand through his snowy hair.
"It's natural for me, but I'm sure with practice, you, too, can learn the ways of the noticed. But enough about me - for now." He grabbed Matthew's hand, eliciting a surprised yelp from the other, and dragged him to the very back of the store, where the cookbooks were still sitting.
"Gilbert, what are you doing?!" Matthew asked incredulously, yanking his hand away and flushing.
"We," Gilbert started, punctuating his words with a poke to the taller man's chest, "are going to build a book fort. And you're going to entertain the awesome me and tell me about your ghosty self. Start talking."
So Matthew did.
The book fort was less than successful. All they could really make were columns that leaned right or left and eventually toppled over (one particular pile went right through Matthew and startled him) to make a mess. But with the entire night to kill, they tried and tried and tried and tried again until two solid walls of books about waist high boxed them in the corner. Matthew explained that he had died in a car accident a few years ago, and for some reason remained in the bookstore, where he had spent a great deal of his time outside the hockey rink. Gilbert explained that he lived with his brother, his brother's boyfriend, and three dogs who would make and bring you dinner if you ordered them to.
They talked long into the night, at one point degrading into a wrestling match (Matthew won, even if Gilbert swore he cheated with his "powers of ghostliness") over who had better taste in alcohol. Gilbert never seemed to lose his energy, and Matthew didn't need to sleep, even if it was habit, so they stayed up until the sun rose again, brightening the bookstore and exposing the dust and haphazard piles of books. Gilbert was lying with his legs thrown over Matthew's lap when they heard the key rattling in the lock and Toris' frustrated muttering. Matthew shoved the albino's legs off him and stood, posture wilting as he did so.
"You should go. Ludwig is probably wondering where you were all night."
"No, he's not. He's probably glad I didn't order sixteen boxes of pizza like I did last week," Gilbert laughed wryly, standing up as well.
There was an awkward silence between them, filled only by the background noise of the unaware Toris moving around behind the counter.
"Well, I guess I'll be seeing you," Matthew said quietly, eyes focused on some point behind Gilbert's head.
Gilbert opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and coughed, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Yeah. Well."
He turned abruptly on his heel and strode towards the counter, rapping on the counter and making poor Toris jump again.
"I-I...you..."
"You locked me in last night."
"Oh, my, I'm so-"
"Thanks."
Toris stared at him in bewilderment.
Peeking out from behind the bookshelf, Matthew grinned and waved to Gilbert, who waved back.
"It's a nice shop you've got here. I might have to grace it with my presence again sometime," he said, only half to the confused clerk.
With those parting words, Gilbert left the shop, walking quickly and mounting his motorcycle without a single glance back. It was only when he was a block from home that he remembered the Italian cooking book he never bought. Scheiße, Luddy would kill him!
A slow grin spread over his face.
Another visit to the bookstore would be due tomorrow.
* Fuck, what the hell was that? And why did you lock me in, you swine? Shit, this hurts!
Hello, friends. I am back! If you're following me for Homestuck and don't like Hetalia, well, I guess you'll have to look elsewhere. To everyone else - I look forward to future Hetalia fics with these two idiots and others.
This will remain a oneshot, though I may write other pieces in the same universe and post them as chapters. Reviews are always welcome!